


Hiccups

by SnowMercury



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, MAG 159 spoilers, safehouse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:54:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23417053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowMercury/pseuds/SnowMercury
Summary: jon <3s martin and martin <3s jon and they are comfortable just both reading different books while cuddling
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 2
Kudos: 49





	Hiccups

One would think that once he had read a statement, that would be the last he’d Know about it. He could just move on and be done with it, maybe read a nice book for once or relax with a pair of needles and a ball of yarn. Well, outside of the dreams. But no, apparently that was simply not how the Beholding worked, not even here where he was far from it’s stronghold.

Maybe he could handle the trauma. The scars, the feeling of being watched and the intenseness of Watching. Even the Compelling he could find workarounds for. And yes, maybe his opinion would change when he was actively thinking about any of these things rather than simply frustrated. But, - _The stairs had been long, and dark, and a pale, pale grey, and they creaked not every step, but every other. I think that made it worse_ \- would it just - _I could see the fangs, then. They caught the light like knives, almost metallic and it doesn’t seem like it could be real, but you know how in a dream, you just know things? I just knew, okay, that these teeth were sharper than any knives could be, and this thing, this beast, it only had eyes for_ \- **be** \- _It, it smelled sweet. I don’t know how rot can be sweet, but it was, it smelled like days old syrup, left out to mold and dry and there was nothing I could see, crawling or living in that, but I knew that something was there, and it was something that would make a home of me_ \- **QUIET?**

Jon dropped the book in frustration, not caring to look at the page number. He wouldn’t care, anyways, he was sure that the Beholding would- _72\. The number on the door was 72, I remember now, and there was nothing particularly odd about the number, but_ \- Ah. There it was again. Despite that he hadn’t actually been paying attention to the entirety of the chapter up to that point and would have to reread most of it to actually make sense of what he’d read, the snippets he’d actually comprehended. He gritted his teeth, leaning back into the warmth of the person next to him. 

“Did the eye tell you how the story ended again?” He couldn’t see what Martin was doing, exactly, but he could tell that he was making that face he makes, kind and curious and sympathetic but in the way that didn’t feel patronizing, no, just. There. Constant. Caring. And he couldn’t use ‘just’ to describe him, no, Martin wasn’t ‘just’ anything- _His legs, his arms, his head even, they were, there was something that, I don’t know how to describe it. But it wasn’t him moving_ \- and oh, that was a particularly nasty statement to have been reminded of, he realized with a cringe. One of Martin’s hands found its way to his shoulder, offering him something grounding with a small squeeze, reminding him when and where he was. 

“No,” came Jon’s reply, short and succinct but not for any reason of distance. He leaned back further, resting his head on Martin, looking up at Martin, seeing Martin. Martin was looking down at him in a way that made his chest tight and fluttery, his fingers almost go numb. “Statements, parts of them.” Ironic that he only had so many words to explain what was happening, when he had- _It was not her. I know, I know this sounds, weird, like I’m weird, I know I’m weird, but that’s not what this is about, it wasn’t her_ \- so many other words running through his head, unbidden, just dropped and he had to follow them through to the end. 

“Oh, no.” Martin’s expression is slightly more tinged with worry now, concern. He seems to think for a second, hand rubbing Jon’s shoulder in comfort, and Jon is sure if their position was less awkward he’d be giving him a hug or holding his hand or maybe, maybe the same thing. But what it amounts to is that it grounds him, the physicality of it. Which is why Jon starts almost when the hand freezes, disappears for a moment, when Martin’s expression becomes slightly more worried. “Oh- is touch okay right now? Or is it too-“ - _I could see his ribs. His hands. His ribs and his hands, and they were the same thing in the most horrifying and confusing way_ \- “-overwhelming?”

Jon takes a second to respond, trying to ground himself, find the words. “No, touch is...” He pauses again, this time at another jumble of words, less comprehendible than the last, almost just a few syllables and consonants more than any sense of words. “It helps, for now, Martin.” 

So Martin moves his hand back to Jon’s shoulder, and keeps looking down at him with that expression, although maybe it isn’t so much as a singular expression as it is that Jon simply likes looking at him, and it isn’t Martin’s expression only so much as it is that any expression Martin makes becomes solely Martin’s, solely unique, for a few moments. 

Jon is now feeling rather overwhelmed for a different reason, a feeling in his chest that would have him worried about the Web if he didn’t know what it was, with the way that it feels like something is tugging at all the strings that make him _him_. Something is twisting, plucking at those strings, and he can barely breathe much less open his mouth to speak. 

So he does what he can. He turns slightly, trying to position himself so his elbow isn’t jabbing into Martin’s stomach, burying his face into Martin’s side, closing his eyes. At some point, Martin has put down the book that he, too, was reading. And Jon isn’t sure when exactly he did that, but finds he is content with not knowing, that he is glad there are some things the eye still has not told him. (Learning about Martin in theory is better than any of the other things he would have dropped into his mind like a piano, but he would much rather do it naturally, through conversation. He wants Martin to tell him the things he wants to tell, and to listen, and for the both of them to share themselves with each other. Not through the interference of some magical fear god, but just. Them.)

“Didn’t you just finish reading a statement earlier today?” Perhaps there is something to be said about how much of a routine it has become, dealing with these tangents in his head, that he is so relaxed despite the content of these sentences. ~~Perhaps it is something to be said, instead, about how much of his humanity is left.~~

“Yes. It wasn’t too bad of a one. Dealt with the Dark.” It was gradually becoming easier, the jumble of words in his brain lessening. Less worry that he was going to just start reciting the statement, something that had happened more times than he’d cared to admit. 

“Hm.” Martin is silent for a moment, and Jon finds himself wondering what the other is thinking about. “Is it- has it been happening the last few times you’ve eaten a statement?”

Jon playfully grumbles. “ _Read_ , not eaten. But, yes.” 

“Oh, I think that eat is a pretty accurate term considering.” His smile can be heard in his voice, and at this point Jon is so curious he simply has to look up, even while Knowing he’s about to be, once again, absolutely floored by Martin. His smile is bright, and infectious, even though Jon has no clue what he’s smiling about. “I think the Beholding’s got a case of the hiccups!”

Aaaand there it goes. Jon rolls his eyes and huffs, collapsing back down on Martin. “I’ll push you off this couch. I swear I will.” He doesn’t even try. 

“Well, I thought it was funny.” Martin says, adjusting to be laying down more than he was earlier, Jon readjusting in kind. “If you, if you need to talk about them, though, I’m here for you. Willing to listen.” Jon smiles.

“Not right now, I don’t think. Thank you, though, Martin.” 

There’s a few moments, where Jon thinks a bit about all those times when he didn’t thank Martin. Didn’t show the kindness he should have. And, after snuggling a bit more into him, he says it again, quieter this time, gentler, but with more weight to those words. Maybe that makes it all the more important how gentle he says them.

“Thank you, Martin.”


End file.
